Only A Story
by Araloth the Random
Summary: What would you do if no one believed that you had seen someone kidnapped by mythical creatures? Eamonn, his friend Eryn, an officer, a professor and possibly the whole Police Force are about to find out how much damage explosives can do in Middle-Earth...
1. Default Chapter

**Many thanks to the members of HoF for helping improve this story!**

_What would you do if no one believed that you had seen someone kidnapped by mythical creatures? Eamonn, his friend Eryn, an officer, a professor and possibly the whole Police Force are about to find out how much damage explosives can do in Middle-Earth..._

A/N: Hello! I'm not dead—rest assured, I'm still writing, though unfortunately I have less time to do it in.

Firstly, a warning: This is on the AU side of things. This means loose interpretations of and even deviations from canon. For example, in blatant opposition to what the Great Professor (*bows*) has said on the subject, I'm making Westron and English similar languages. There are a few other things that will probably not follow canon to the letter but, you have been warned.

That having been said, please enjoy this latest concoction of mine! As usual, please feel free to make comments and suggestions, even if it's only a short one. :)

Disclaimer: If I were the real author of Lord of the Rings, I would not be writing fanfiction about it.

* * *

It was an ordinary Wednesday night in June, where the harsh, wet winter winds were stilled into only a slight breeze. The rest of Churchdale was going to sleep; on campus, however, the usual mid-week party was just beginning.

Smithston University campus in Victoria, Australia took up most of the space in the town, which was a good hour's drive from the outer Melbournian suburbs. Most of its residents lived in houses that had sprung up over the years in close proximity to the Western Residential Facility across the road from the main campus, and were quite glad that it was the end of the semester. Most of the noisy young students living at the WRF had gone home for the winter break. It meant a few weeks of relative peace and quiet—after tonight's party, of course.

Eamonn, however, was stuffing books and highly sugary food into his backpack, and had dumped the whole lot into the hall before going back into his room and picking up a few more things. One of his housemates passed him in the hall and stared at him in disbelief.

"You're not going to the party?" he asked in thickly accented English.

"Not tonight, Lee-Yin. I gotta do that essay. Haven't even started it yet and I have to get it in by tomorrow morning."

The student from Hong Kong shook his head. "All nighters, they're bad for you."

"He's right, y'know," called Eryn from her room, where the door was half-open. Eamonn came and stood in the doorway. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, busy tying up her long dyed-black hair into a high ponytail. The room was an absolute mess, with pizza boxes and other university student paraphernalia littered all over the place.

"You do know that you're going to have to have this cleaned up for tomorrow," Eamonn pointed out. "They want us outta here by ten."

"And they want their full week's rent too, the bastards," sighed Eryn miserably, cupping her chin in her hands. Her mother had forgotten to transfer her rent money onto Eryn's card last week.

Seeing her brow crease in worry, Eamonn swung open the door a little further and carefully stepped over the various random items lying scattered around. "It's all good. I'll pay this week, and once you get the money you can pay me back. Or my aunt, technically."

There was a moment of complete silence. She blinked. "What?"

"I'm serious," Eamonn assured her.

Eryn bit her lip and looked up at him, her green eyes uncertain. "You don't have—I mean, isn't that—"

"Isn't that what best friends are for?" he finished. His rich aunt Lori always paid off his rent plus extra, while he was at uni and not working at the local grocery store. Of course, he knew that Eryn didn't want to have to be in debt to him or his family. He wouldn't blame Eryn if she declined.

As it turned out, he didn't have to worry about anything of the sort. Before he knew it, Eryn's arms were around his neck in her usual exuberant expression of thanks.

"Thank you thank you thank you," she gushed, her forehead resting against his shoulder. As he sat there and let her babble her gratitude into his shirt the faint smell of roses blew into his face when the breeze came through the open window and stirred Eryn's hair. He found himself leaning over, breathing it in. It was a nice smell.

"What are you doing?" Eryn's voice suddenly cut through his thoughts and he quickly pulled back. Her eyebrow was raised in an expression of puzzlement.

"Nothing," he said hastily, feeling a little sheepish. After all, it was a little weird to be caught smelling your best friend's hair. To hide his embarrassment, he stood up and changed the subject before things could really become awkward. "I was wondering, have you seen that box of cans? The one that we got last week."

Eryn snorted. "Even if I had, there's probably none left by now. Emo had, like, five this morning."

The muffled voice of Emo—whose name was really Andrew—came from somewhere in the kitchen. "Correction: six."

Eryn giggled and turned back to Eamonn, her head tilted to one side as she tried to attach her earring. "You'll need a lot more than Coke, if you're pulling an all-nighter. Try V or Mother or something. Actually, wait a sec—" She leapt off the bed and skipped lithely to the closet, leaving Eamonn wondering how she managed it when there was so much crap everywhere. A few seconds of rummaging around on one of the shelves yielded a familiar-looking can of energy drink, which she waved around with a grin.

Eamonn pulled a face. "If there's one caffeinated beverage I detest, it's that." He gestured with a half-amused, half-disgusted face at the can of black V—one of the most hyperactive-behaviour-inducing substances known to man.

Eryn's eyes widened in mock surprise. "What?"

"Can't stand the stuff." He shuddered. At this Eryn rolled her eyes.

"Eamonn Codds, you're exhausted enough as it is already. If you're going to stay up all night writing bloody research reports or whatever you're gonna have to stay awake somehow!"

"I'll be fine," he assured her, trying to suppress the yawn he felt rising in the back of his throat. He was exhausted. But his professor had agreed to let him re-do his paper even though it was the end of semester. He had to hand it in and try to at least get a pass or he'd fail the unit. Besides, he could sleep in till twelve if he wanted to the day after tomorrow, when he went to stay with his aunt in Hazel's Creek five minutes away.

He didn't notice until he felt Eryn tugging on one of the many zips on his bag that she was stuffing the can in. "What're you doing?"

She looked up and shot him a grin. "You'll thank me." With that she shoved him out of her room, nearly making him trip over the wires of her phone charger, and the wind blowing in from her window slammed the door in Eamonn's face.

"Well, I s'pose I'm off then," he muttered. He picked up his bag and hoisted it onto his shoulders with a jerk, and barely suppressed a wince when the corner of one of his heavy textbooks suddenly slammed into his back. One of the doors creaked open and the spiky-haired head of Li-Yin appeared, followed by a pair of feet wearing flip-flops. Eamonn tilted his head to one side.

"You always dress like that during winter?"

Lee-Yin chuckled. "Different culture."

"Or maybe that's jus' you," laughed May-Li, smacking him in the arm as she went past.

Lee-Yin rolled his eyes before following her and turned to Eamonn. "Hef fun."

"Oh, I will," answered Eamonn cheerfully. As he walked past the kitchen he called out, "Bye, Emo!"

Andrew turned his head, gave him his usual apathetic stare, and turned back to doing...well, whatever it was that he was doing. Usually only Eryn called him Emo; a ready scowl met anyone else who dared. He must have been in a good mood tonight. At least, a reasonably good mood.

As Eamonn shuffled toward the door he almost stepped on a crumpled white envelope, which stood out against the faded, worn green of the carpet. Puzzled, he picked it up. Turning it over in his hands, he found that it wasn't sealed. A quick peek inside revealed three fifties. He let out a low whistle. It wasn't like many of the students on campus could afford to leave 150 bucks just lying around. He waved it around in Andy's direction.

"This yours, Emo? Er, Andy?"

The latter glanced up and shook his head, his black fringe swaying as he did so.

Eamonn doubted the Asians would have left it lying around—both Lee-Yin and May-Li were neat freaks and proud of it. So in that case. . .

It's just enough to pay off Eryn's rent for the week.

Smoothing out the crinkles in the envelope, he laid it neatly on the ancient, stained dining table. As he was about to leave, he caught sight of a book sitting near him, with a dark red strip of paper serving as a bookmark.

Oh, Lord, not that thing again, he thought, once he caught sight of the title: _The Two Towers_. Memories of studying The Return of the King back in high school flooded back into his mind and he barely suppressed a groan. The movies had been pretty good, he had to admit, but the books—ugh. Eryn was always trying to get him to read the entire trilogy, plus some book called "The Silly Marilyn" or something, but he had steadfastly managed not to on the grounds that it was too geeky for his tastes.

The shoddy wooden door with its peeling paint took a few efforts to push open, protesting and creaking away on its old hinges, giving way so suddenly that Eamonn nearly fell out of the doorway. Cold air immediately rushed into the house and Eamonn quickly stepped outside and shut the door behind him before his housemates could complain. Hurrying down the steps he went out into the electrically-lit night, ignoring (or trying to ignore) the noise emanating from the rec house in the middle of the WRF. His determination sank a little when he compared partying to the prospects of typing all night, but somehow he managed to drag himself across the road to the main campus.

As he headed towards the library the usual sounds of student nightlife grew ever more distant and faint with every step. His footfalls fell in an even rhythm, crunching against the rough asphalt, which looked darker than usual beneath his feet. The campus always looked weird and different at night. For some odd reason, he suddenly felt that maybe he should've just stayed back at the house with the others. The very uncomfortable feeling that something might happen while most of the security guards were on holiday with the rest of the students lurked at the back of his mind.

Eamonn's breathing quickened as he walked and his heart began to pound as he headed closer to the library. He was sure that he had heard something, or seen something springing from the shadows. He found himself breaking into a jog.

Oh, stop it, he told himself crossly. You're being stupid and you know it. He willed himself to slow down into an even walk. Just as he was slowing his breathing, a dark shape emerged from the shadows near the doorway at the top of the stairs. Eamonn jumped.

"Wha' was that for?" demanded a familiar voice. "'Tis only me, ye fool!"

He found himself releasing a breath that he didn't even know that he was holding, once the face of the security guard came into view. "Hey, Billy." _What the hell is wrong with me today?_

"Eamonn! What're ye doin' up at this hour, eh?" Billy's broad Scottish accent and booming voice silenced Eamonn's irrational fears almost instantly. He grinned at his own stupidity.

"Oh, doin' a bit o' work, are we?" asked Billy before Eamonn could answer.

"Yeah. I've got a massive assignment due tomorrow and it's not finished yet."

"So ye're gonna stay till it is."

"That's pretty much it."

Billy's brow furrowed in concern. "Eamonn, ye're tired, lad. An all-nighter won't do nae good. Just ask 'em for an extension."

Eamonn bit back the urge to retort. The hell? Everyone seemed to be trying to stop him from doing a bit of work! Though maybe a few moments ago he might've hastily agreed with the Scot and run back to the WRF. Since when was he so afraid of the dark? He ran a hand back through his hair. "Well. . .I'm kinda failing sociology and the dude's letting me re-do my assignment. It'd be pretty stupid if I didn't hand it in for tomorrow." He smiled ruefully.

Billy shook his head. "Alright, Eamonn, fair enough. But next time maybe ye shouldn't procrastinate. Doin' this sorta stuff—" He waved his arm at Eamonn for emphasis. "It's not good for ye. Ye'll end up all tired and 'urtin' yeself, this late at night."

Eamonn chuckled, remembering the book that had been lying on the table. "What, I'll go to walk outta here and get attacked by one of them Orc things?"

"Very funny, lad. In ye go. And good luck with yer essay or whatever."

"Thanks, Billy."

Whistling a random Lady Gaga tune to himself, he headed off down the wide corridors with their monochromatic grey carpet and dark blue doors till he reached the library. Orcs or no, he was determined to finish his report and finally pass the semester.

-o-

**A few hours later**

Tapping out the last concluding words to his report, Eamonn grinned in satisfaction and leaned back in his chair with a wide yawn at the ceiling. Maybe he wouldn't have to stay up for the entire night after all. Though he would have to tell Eryn that he had at last resorted about an hour ago to that terribly sugary energy drink. He drained the last few drops and sat back with a soft belch.

An inhuman shriek abruptly pierced the cold silence, making Eamonn sit bolt upright with a jerk, wide-eyed and heart racing madly. He froze in shock, unable to move for several moments before he quickly yanked his memory stick out of the USB drive and hoisted his bag onto his back, ready to bolt for his life. But something out in the hallway stopped him: the sound of panicked footsteps and erratic breathing as whoever it was sprinted past. Something was not right. His instincts warned him of sudden danger and straight away he dimmed the lights.

_Where do I go?_ he thought in a panic, darting this way and that in the dim light. He dashed behind the shadows of the wide architraves in the postmodern architectural-inspired entrance to the library. The racing footfalls died away. His heart thudded rapidly in his ears.

There was silence.

Releasing a shaky breath, Eamonn tilted his head back against the heavy trolley stacked with books. _Relax. Breathe. It was just. . .someone running. . ._

The sudden sound of footsteps treading heavily somewhere outside in the hall made him tense up. Chills unaccountably ran down his spine. It was not the same person as before. What the hell was going on? There had to be a crazy axe murderer running around. That was the only plausible explanation for that horrible yell he had heard just moments ago. _He'd_ certainly yell if there was someone after him with an axe.

The footsteps were slow and measured, and seemed to be coming closer. Eamonn realised that it was not only the dull thud of heavy boots that he could hear, but the tinny sound of metal clanking together. It was an odd noise, and not one that he was accustomed to hearing.

He was desperately trying to control his breathing but it sounded ragged and loud in the silence. If I get hacked to pieces, I'll never pass sociology, he thought, then wondered why such random and somewhat morbidly amusing thoughts were popping into his head. And at this time!

His shoulders stiffened when the sudden noise of snuffling and snorting came to his ears. It suddenly occurred to him that whoever it was had to be quite close now. With a sudden crash, a heavily metal-shod foot slammed down just outside the library entrance and mere feet away from where Eamonn was pressed against the doorway. He didn't dare move or breathe—not least because of the foul stench that seemed to accompany the man. What on earth was that horrible smell? It smelt like. . .like blood. Or compost. Or. . .rotting flesh. Bile rose at the back of his throat and it took a concentrated effort not to vomit.

The man—at least, Eamonn thought it was a man—suddenly turned away and the whirring of one of the automatic doors not too far away told him that the danger had left the immediate vicinity. For now. With a shaky, rasping sigh of relief he tried to pull himself to his feet. His legs were shaking uncontrollably.

_Shit. How am I gonna get out of here with that thing running around?_ The prospects of trying to get back to the WRF without getting killed by some sadistic metal-clad psychopath were not looking particularly pleasant.

If he went out the main entrance of the building, anyone who attacked him would clearly be spotted by the security guards in the harsh light of the electric lamps. That is, if there were any security guards at this time. . .

Trust this to be the only time when most of the guards weren't there. Well, it _was_ the end of semester.

With a combination of daring courage and utter foolishness Eamonn picked up his bag and headed towards the exit where the intruder had left. Once again it whirred open and he winced at the noise it made. Keeping to the wall and the shadow protection it afforded him, he began to nervously head down the path. He could see little but the crunching of footsteps on gravel told him that his quarry was not far ahead.

_The dude's heading towards the trees. Whoa, what the hell? Why would he go down to Hazel's Wood?_

Amid the rapid beatings of his heart his confused thoughts kept whirling around, trying to make sense of themselves. He rounded the corner but quickly pulled back when he saw. . .

Professor Bloom?

What was he doing out here? And. . .and. . .sprawled on the grass as if dead?

The answer to all these puzzling questions emerged in all its grotesque, metal-clad repulsiveness into the faint half-light of the moon.

This was no man. No man, not even an axe murderer, could possibly look this hideous.

Eamonn nearly choked.

The creature was easily his height or more, and Eamonn was a tall young man of six foot. But the resemblance to him, or to any human creature—because he was sure it wasn't human—ended there. Its shoulders were broad, as was its ugly, deformed face. Long, thin black hair clung to its odd clothing, which looked like some sort of weird armour from a fantasy movie. Mostly, the armour looked like a lot of metal and leather strung up together in some sort of order, but it was all stained and rusted and dented as if it had seen a lot of wear. Which, judging by its wearer's bloodstained appearance, was all too possible.

Never had he seen anything so frightening.

His horror could only increase when the horrible creature picked up the prostrate Professor and slung him over his shoulder as if he were a bag. Or something to eat for later. He wouldn't put it past that creature to be a cannibal. It adjusted its load with a grunt and made off with it, plodding towards the forest. A few shadows of around the creature's build and stature emerged from the trees, and after exchanging a few snarls and growls they disappeared.

Eamonn sank against the wall towards the ground, eyes wide and blank, and sat there for a long while.

If Lord of the Rings wasn't fictional, he could've sworn that what he had just seen was an Orc.


	2. A Knife In The Dark

**The previous night: Henneth Annûn, Ithilien**

The splashing of water as it fell in even rhythm outside the cave usually soothed the troubled storm in Faramir's spirit with its calming melody. But for some reason it failed today. He felt that something was not right in Middle-Earth. True, nothing had been right or normal since the return of the Dark Lord into the fiery ash-ridden land beyond the black cliffs that stood tall and forbidding at Ithilien's marches. Both forces were ever-vigilant, ever reminding each other of their existence. The only difference was that Sauron did not know of Faramir's hiding place and if he did, he had not discovered it, thank the Valar.

Maybe it was the departure of those two Halflings on their dark journey, accompanied by that loathsome, pitiful creature. Faramir knew not what sleepless horrors lay in the pass of Cirith Ungol—no Mortal Man he knew had ever come out alive—but he did know this: they were walking into terrible danger. He silently sent up a prayer to the One, asking for His blessing upon them. The whole fate of Middle-Earth, with all its lands and peoples, rested upon the shoulders of two small Halflings who should never have travelled out of their own lands, if there had been any justice in the world. It was a heavy burden to carry.

The echoing of hurried footfalls grew louder in the cave and Faramir glanced up in surprise. Unless he so ordered it, none of his men ever ran in this place. The men who had been out for the last few hours strode in grimly. His unease could only increase when the weathered face of Anborn came into view, his countenance one of worry. The men who had not been with Anborn looked up when they saw him, their gazes flashing from lord to lieutenant.

"Nethir's gone, my Lord." Anborn's voice was breathless.

The young captain leapt to his feet. "Gone?" he repeated, shocked.

"Aye, my Lord."

"But how could this happen?" Faramir's grey eyes flashed with sudden anger. "He was supposed to be under your supervision!"

Anborn stepped back, evidently unused to seeing his quiet, calm Captain angry. "He _was_ under our supervision, Lord Faramir, but I fear he is lost."

"Anborn," sighed Faramir, tiredly pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes, "you know these woods and these lands as well as I do. Had you spent more time to search, you might have found him."

The other man shook his head. "No, my Lord. We cannot find him and we have been searching for nigh on two hours. He has vanished altogether."

Faramir frowned at this. "What do you mean, vanished?" he asked slowly. The word implied that Nethir had simply walked off into thin air without a trace, and he did not like the thought.

Anborn sat down next to him, obviously thinking about what he was going to tell him. Faramir waited patiently, though he could hear his heart beat loudly in the silence as it lengthened between them. Something dreadful must have happened to Nethir. Cruelly mutilated by Orcs, perhaps, as it sometimes happened. Each and every one of those deaths caused much grief to Faramir, who felt the loss as keenly as if that unfortunate ranger had been his own brother. Poor Boromir...he bowed his head as his thoughts turned to the confident, impulsive older brother who had always been there for him. Until now. _Boromir, where are you when I need you?_ he thought sadly.

He looked up when Anborn cleared his throat. "I mean, my Lord, that..." His voice trailed off as he struggled to find the right words. "We have nothing to tell us what he was doing or where he went. Had he been killed by enemy forces, doubtless we would have found his body after this afternoon's skirmish."

What Anborn had told him was undoubtedly true. It was entirely possible that Nethir had managed to get himself lost somewhere in Northern Ithilien and had to stay where he was, now that it was nightfall, but something told Faramir that it was something more than that. Glancing out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Anborn looked as if he had something else to say. "Go on, Anborn," he said gently, his anger at his right-hand man's somehow losing Nethir dissipating.

"If I may say so, my Lord, Nethir does bear a strange resemblance to..." He paused.

"To whom?"

"To you, my Lord."

Faramir was surprised. So the others had noticed it too. It was good to know that when Faramir looked at Nethir, he was not the only one who saw something familiar in him.

"The Orcs we encountered this afternoon may have found him and mistaken him for you, my Lord," suggested Anborn quickly, taking advantage of the Captain's silence. Faramir gave a soft snort.

"Sauron has set a price on my head, I am sure, but surely his servants would be able to tell the difference between myself and a mere lad of twenty summers."

"To the Orcs we all look the same, just as they look the same to us, my Lord."

"Now, that is very true," sighed Faramir. He crossed his arms and leaned against the cave entrance with its sparkling watery curtain catching the moonlight in its droplets. The quiet murmuring of his men as they sat and talked nearly harmonised with the song of the falling waters—a song that the Captain had grown very fond of during the many years that he had spent here. He turned to his most trusted man. "Anborn, we must find Nethir."

"Aye, my Lord. But we cannot go out at this hour."

"You are right. At the break of dawn, we will search for him."

A nod and Faramir's turning away told Anborn that he was dismissed.

-o-

**Churchdale, regional Victoria, Australia**

"Are you sure about this, Harris?"

"Sure as I am that Heath Ledger's dead, sir."

Senior Sergeant Richards of Tending, the largest town near Churchdale, was in no mood for even mildly amusing similes and made it very clear to the Senior Constable. After all, it was his fault that he was being woken up at six in the morning. "Don't give me that crap, Harris!" he snapped temperamentally.

"Sorry, sir. But I assure you this is quite serious."

The cranky Sergeant sat up in bed, rubbing the sleep from one of his eyes. Mrs. Sergeant shot an annoyed look at him, shuffled out of bed and headed to the kitchen. He sighed. "So. You're saying that some hysterical individual found the mangled remains of a security guard at the uni."

"Precisely, sir. It was one of the workers at the Residential Services Office on campus who was there so that some of the students who had ready cash could pay off the week's rent before buggering off home."

"Yes, yes," grumbled the Sergeant, who was not interested in minutia at this time in the morning, least of all anything to do with campus life. Those bloody students were the ones that caused his officers the most work, what with their drunken partying in the early hours of the morning on Wednesdays. He was actually surprised at the fact that no one had reported any disturbance last night. The end-of-semester parties at Churchdale were notorious. Even the people in Melbourne heard about Churchdale campus parties.

The officer sounded apologetic. "Bear with me, sir. I believe I have some information which may be of interest to you."

"Well, get on with it, then!"

There was a brief pause on the other end. "Well, sir, we found he had been hacked to death, most likely with a primitive and probably blunt weapon."

Richards took the glass from his bedside table and gulped down the remaining water. "Could it be one of those ritualistic nutcases again? We've found animal bodies mangled like that over the years."

"I don't think so, sir. This is different."

"Really? How so?" he asked.

"There was a black-feathered arrow embedded in whatever was left of the guard."

The Sergeant sat up straighter. A frown creased his brow and he scratched his head, its sleep-tousled grey hair growing messier. "An arrow, you say?"

"Yes, sir."

The Sergeant was puzzled. What kind of murderer would use an arrow to kill his victim? Some mediaeval warrior roleplay-obsessed nut, maybe. Most likely, unless the arrow had shot him through the heart, that poor guard must have died a nasty, messy death. He had to wonder exactly what the killer's motives were behind it all. Obviously he was after something on the campus and had to get rid of whoever was watching. But what he could possibly have been after completely eluded the Sergeant. And surely there was no need to so brutally hack the poor bloke apart just to get rid of him. What a sadistic bastard that murderer had to be. And what an investigation he now had on his hands.

"Sir?"

He had forgotten about the officer on the other end. "Yes, Harris?" he sighed. He was acutely aware of how sleepy his voice sounded and was rather annoyed at both himself and the poor Senior Constable.

"Sergeant Matheson requested that you come over quickly so that we can decide the best course of action."

He had a sudden urge to throw the phone against the wall. Matheson was one of the few individuals who well and truly drove the Senior Sergeant up the wall. He requested, did he? How polite of him. He could just imagine his interfering subordinate demanding that their overseer come right over at that instant.

"When did Matheson suggest that he might require my presence?" he said, his tone dangerously polite.

"As soon as possible, sir."

Now, Senior Sergeant Gordon Richards was not one to take his job lightly. Especially not when it came to homicide. However, he was tired, in a bad mood, his knee was starting to give him trouble again despite good health for his age, and having that blasted idiot of a subordinate officer attempt to order him into His Lordship's presence—again—was the last straw.

"You may tell Matheson that I will be there when I damn well please," was his answer to the surprised Senior Constable, and having given his response he hung up, irritated. With a sigh he swung his legs over the side of the bed and rubbed his eyes for the second time as he left the room.

Already this looked like it was going to be a long day.

A very long day.

-o-

Nagdash and a three other Orcs had stopped beneath the shade of the tall, strange trees of Hazel's Wood and as far from the growing sunlight as possible. They trudged onwards until they found the rest of their company at their makeshift camp.

With a grunt one of the Orcs dropped the now half-conscious Professor rather unceremoniously next to a young man barely out of his adolescence, who was bound and gagged. Nagdash squatted in front of the latter, surveying him with his soulless black eyes. "Well, well. What's this?"

The Orc standing nearest to Nagdash spat in disgust. "That filthy _tark_, the leader of them boys in green who shoot from behind the trees 'cause they're too scared to come out and fight." A few appreciative snickers ran through the company at his comment.

"Shuddup!" ordered Nagdash and they immediately stopped. Turning back to the prisoner, he tilted his head as if to get a better look at him. The young man did not move, only staring straight up into eyes, defiance flickering in their grey depths. Nagdash frowned.

"'E looks too young t'be their leader," he muttered, standing up. The Orc who had spoken to him first spat again.

"Narr, 'e's the one alright. I seen 'im before. Filthy scum!" He whacked the Mortal across the face with the back of his gnarled black hand. Nagdash roared and the Orc scuttled backwards a few steps in surprise and fear.

"You'll not touch 'im, Golbog, nor any o' ya!" he snarled. "Lugburz'll be wantin' the maggot unharmed."

"_Un'armed_?" echoed one of the Uruks with obvious displeasure, eying the young ranger hungrily as if he were something to eat—or worse.

"I'll have your guts for garters if you boys go anywhere _near _'im!" growled Nagdash, this time drawing his bloodstained sword menacingly. "I'll tear your eyes from your skulls!"

Nagdash's company could see that he meant business and their leader snarled again before shoving his weapon back into its leather scabbard. He didn't give a damn what happened to the little rat after he got taken to Lugburz, but for now he was meant to make sure he was not harmed. Golbog licked his thin lips nervously, grimacing with his sharp, yellow teeth.

"What about him, eh?" He gestured wildly in the direction of Nagdash's dazed captive, who was still lying sprawled on the ground near the Orc-captain's feet. He wasn't moving, and had made no attempt to get away. Bending down, Nagdash poked the Professor roughly in the arm with a large forefinger, which elicited a tired groan. Evidently he would not be able to make an escape in this state. There would be no need to bind him until he recovered.

"'E's got a bit more meat than the other," sneered a large Uruk.

"Bet 'e'd be even more fun than even that maggot of a _tark_!" called out someone, and there was raucous laughter all around. The rusted blade found its way to the speaker's throat immediately.

"You'll be next, Shraknar, if you don't shut up!" bellowed Nagdash. Shraknar's yellow eyes nervously flickered from Nagdash to the oddly-dressed captive and back, only letting a few guttural snarls escape from his blistered throat. A thin line of black blood trickled over the sword's sharp edge.

"We're moving on." Nagdash's command came out in a hiss, and no one dared complain. Faramir's ranger was roughly hauled to his feet, his gag removed but his hands remaining bound by coarse rope. Seeing that the other one with the odd frames around his eyes could barely move, the Orc-captain ordered one of his men to carry him, because they didn't have time for him to slowly stagger behind them and hold up the whole company. They had to get out of this forsaken tree-land and back home.

And they only had a few days to do it in.

-o-

**tark**: Orkish word for "Man of Gondor". Not a particularly complimentary term!


	3. Criminal Intent

Unbeknownst to the Orc-captain Nagdash and unnoticed by his companions, Tagruk was missing from the company, lost in the woods. For him it was an odd feeling, being alone. He had always been in a group, always had plenty of others of his kind around him. But now, stamping solitarily amid trees he had never seen before, a strange and confused sensation crept over him. Tagruk was nowhere near Lugburz, and possibly nowhere near that mongrel Nagdash or those other filthy maggots. He was free. But this freedom was new to him and he did not know what to do with himself.

The sunlight seemed unusually bright to him today as it began to creep between the trees and paint the ground with both gold and shadow. He cursed and hurried on, staying as much as possible in the darkness beneath the trees. Like most Uruks, he could withstand the sun if he had to, but also like most Uruks, he preferred not to. It was a nasty light, hot and horrible and golden, and it blinded his eyes and confused his steps.

He found himself stumbling out of the woods into the still-growing light of the morning. Squinting and shielding his eyes, he saw what looked like a human settlement with many houses crammed together. The thought of manflesh made him slaver with sudden hunger. His dull mind only began to focus on one thing. Licking his fangs he doubled his speed as he ran towards the Western Residential Facility, with the full intention to kill.

-o-

Eryn Blackwell was standing on the footpath several blocks away from the university and the student houses - which, if she had known, was where Tagruk was heading - arms crossed over her chest in protection against the frosty morning. In her pyjamas.

The alarm on her phone had failed to wake her up early and instead she had woken to the unpleasant realisation that she was supposed to have paid her rent at the Residential Services Office an hour ago.

Sitting bolt upright, her stomach sinking fast in unease, she grabbed her phone and checked the time. Eight-fifteen.

"Shit," she hissed, and threw off the covers before bounding out of bed with a good deal more energy than most young people did in the morning. Her room was still an utter mess, though most of her clothes and personal belongings had been hastily shoved into a corner where they could be picked up later. In a panic she jammed on her flip-flops and raced around the room, trying to look for any clothes that she had left lying around which she could throw on. For once, however, there was nothing. She'd have to dig through her suitcase and mess it all up again, and she had no time for that.

And where the frick was Eamonn? He'd told her that he'd take care of the rent this week. Did that mean he was already up at the Rez Office?

Running into the dining room, she was about to leave when a white envelope caught her eye. Hesitating as to whether she should pick it up or not, she sighed exasperatedly and hurried over to the table.

"Lee-Yin!" she called, her voice cracking from not being used to being used at this volume early on a cold morning. "This envelope yours?"

Lee-Yin didn't answer, but May-Li did. She was fully dressed and already dragging her luggage outside. "Eamonn left that for you, I think."

Puzzled, Eryn fished around inside the envelope and her hand came out again holding an entire $150. She breathed a sigh of relief. Thanks, Eamonn.

She then turned and bolted out the door, regardless of her still being dressed in her flimsy flannelette shirt and pants, and stuffed the notes back in, clutching the envelope for dear life. There were crowds of students standing around outside with their baggage (and all of them fully-dressed) and Eryn was prepared to receive strange looks as she hurried past. But they all seemed to be murmuring amongst themselves with confused expressions as they spilled out onto the road. Behind them all were policemen getting them off the campus, looking as if they were farmers herding cattle into the next pasture.

What's going on? she wondered. Had something happened last night? Usually the cops weren't there for very long, once any disturbances from parties had been sorted out. It was very unusual to see them still here in the morning.

Well, there was no time to be stuffing around over things that didn't concern her. She darted around the WRF, ducking behind the houses to avoid being kicked off the campus with the rest of the students. Eryn was on a mission: Mission Hand-In-the-Rent. She grinned to herself at the rather childish thought, her mind for the moment taken off the icy droplets of water that the grass brushed onto her nearly-bare feet.

Eryn broke into a jog on the tarmac, once she saw the building where the Residential Services Office was located. Though it was the last day, the campus was still surprisingly quiet. Even at eight-thirty in the morning there were always people around. Not today. She brushed aside the slight feeling of unease at this and nearly skipped up the stairs in her haste – an impressive feat, given that she was in wet flip-flops.

The morning sun was beginning to spill in through the high windows of the office. Eryn had been mentally preparing what to say to the grumpy old woman who usually oversaw rent collection for those who didn't pay by card. But her thoughts had been muddled by the time she reached the door, and she had completely forgotten what she was going to say.

But as it turned out, Hattie Gibbs wasn't there today.

Sitting there instead was a tall, thin girl, anxiously staring at the computer screen and tapping away on the keyboard.

"Kaylee?"

The young woman in question glanced up. Eryn saw that her face, usually looking as if it had been done by professional make-up artists, was pallid and weary. She frowned. "What's going on?"

Kaylee stood up, looking only at the heavy reception desk in front of her for a few moments. The ticking of the wall-clock sounded almost loud in the silence and Eryn's heart began to synchronise itself with the regular tick, tick, tick. Eventually Kaylee cleared her throat and replied, "Hattie's not in today. I guess you're lucky." Her smile was wan.

"Why isn't she here today? She's here _every_ Thursday, rain, hail or shine."

Kaylee bit her lip. "She was in hysterics so they had to call me in." She did not seem to be willing to share any more information. But Eryn was not going to settle for that. Something was going on that she wasn't being told about.

Vaulting herself over the top of the desk—something which no one ever dared when Hattie was in—Eryn pulled up a chair and sat down determinedly. "What's going on, Kaylee?"

The older girl looked at her uncertainly. "I – I'm not supposed to be telling anything—"

"Please, Kaylee." She lowered her voice. "I just want to know what's going on. I mean, it's just kinda weird to wake up and find that there's cops swarming all over the place."

"Well…" Kaylee's voice trailed off and she looked down at her hands. "They—they said that Hattie found the remains of a guard who had been murdered last night."

Eryn's heart nearly stopped in shock. "_Murdered_?" she echoed. Her friend nodded bleakly.

"And brutally, too. As in, mess everywhere." Her eyes were wide and filled with terror as she spoke. Eryn suspected that she had also had the misfortune of encountering the mangled corpse.

"Wh—who was the guard?" she asked, annoyed to find that her voice came out with a stammer.

"Billy. Billy McBride," Kaylee murmured, looking away.

"Oh no," Eryn whispered. "Poor Billy. How horrible."

"I know." Kaylee ran her hands up through her dark brown hair, looking more distraught than Eryn had ever seen her.

This was serious, then.

In the few moments of silence that stretched between them, Eryn blankly watched dust particles dancing carefree in the golden shafts of morning light. Murdered! And a security guard, too. How could that possibly have happened? The Scot was well-loved and respected by all the students who knew him. A few tears prickled the backs of Eryn's eyes. It was simply inconceivable that anyone could possibly think to do any harm to poor Billy. She eventually gained enough composure to ask, "Where did it happen?"

"Out the front, at the West Block. Didn't you see it?"

Eryn quickly gave a dab at her eyes before answering. "Well...I came in through the South-East to avoid the cops. They were booting everyone off rez and I still had to pay my rent." She gave the envelope a little shake.

Kaylee suddenly seemed to remember why Eryn was here in the first place and gingerly took the envelope. The rent was quickly sorted out, and Kaylee handed Eryn a receipt before nervously sitting back down with a thud. The computer chair went rolling across the carpeted floor and Kaylee hastily steadied herself before looking at Eryn again. "I guess that explains why you're. . ." She gestured at Eryn's choice of clothing without finishing her sentence.

"Yeah," she murmured. "It does." She was still deep in thought. "Do they have any idea who might've done it?"

Kaylee hesitated once again, fidgeting nervously. "Someone reckons Professor David Bloom went missing last night."

"Bloom? As in, that guy who stays up all hours of the night with that team of his trying to figure out if there are such things as time rifts?"

"Yeah, that one. One of his assistants went out at two-thirty in the morning and when he came back, the Professor was gone. And he never leaves the lab until he's completely finished whatever he's doing. Or so the assistant said. So it was…yeah. Weird."

"Did they say when Billy got killed?" asked Eryn, hoping that she wasn't pushing her luck by asking so many questions. Kaylee's patience didn't seem to have given out yet, though. The latter tapped her fingers against her chin in thought.

"Between the hours of three and four, they reckon. It just sounds a bit suss."

It _was_ a bit suss. The murder of the security guard coincided nearly perfectly with the departure of the Professor. It was entirely possible that the guy had gone mad and brutally killed off the guard. But something here simply didn't fit. "But...why would he want to kill Billy?" She frowned and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "What kind of incentive would he have had?"

Kaylee sighed. "Ask the detectives that, or the cops out there. They'll figure it out." Then, in a quieter tone, "I always thought he was crazy."

"But—"

With a tired-sounding whirr, the automatic doors opened, revealing two stern-faced police officers. Eryn tried to duck under the desk, but too late. They had already noticed her. _Well, that's what you get for wearing bright red pyjama tops._ she inwardly grumbled. _Of course, I never thought anyone outside the house would ever see me in my PJs._

"Miss, I think it's best for you to leave," said one to Eryn, before gesturing to Kaylee and adding imperatively, "You too."

Kaylee went out compliantly, headed by one of the officers, and obviously too tired and worried to argue. But Eryn…

"I need to go back to the—" she began, but was rudely cut off.

"I'm afraid that's not possible, Miss."

She tried again. "I'm in my PJs here, Officer. . ." She quickly read his tag. "Fielding."

"The area has been sealed off for police investigation. You aren't permitted to be on campus, which is why I must escort you out now."

"But—"

The only reply Eryn received was for the young officer to turn her about and practically march her out the door and across the western car park, amid her protestations and efforts to explain to him that she needed her clothes.

This was why she was now standing around with only thin material between her and the wet, groping cold that reached for her and swept through her very bones. Her teeth were chattering and the dance-like movements she was executing on the footpath were the only way that she was keeping even the slightest bit warm.

In an effort to take her mind off the pervasive south-Victorian cold, Eryn's thoughts turned to the hardly more pleasant subject of Billy's death. Professor Bloom was odd, there was no doubt about that. He taught physics in the Faculty of Science and was well-known to be especially interested in time and space dimensions. His nerdy team of colleagues had been working for years on finding out about whether there were other dimensions apart from the one they currently lived in. It all sounded a bit too sci-fi for Eryn, but Professor Bloom was unquestionably one of the foremost researchers world-wide in time-dimensional theory.

Obviously the investigation team were going to try and find Bloom and bring him back for questioning. It certainly didn't look good that he had disappeared at around the same time as Billy's violent murder. But Eryn could not see the thirty-year-old professor with his innocent blue eyes and round-rimmed glasses even _contemplating_ anything so ghastly. The two cases could have been completely unrelated, but somehow, she thought not. Maybe she had been completely wrong about him; that she and many others had been deceived by his innocuous appearance, and that he was really a cold-blooded murderer.

Unless...unless Professor Bloom was actually the victim of another crime, and Billy was the only one who stood in the way...

"Eryn!"

She whipped around, startled out of her thoughts by Eamonn's calling her. His tall, lanky form came into view, jogging up the footpath with long strides until he reached her and nearly collapsed on the footpath.

"What's the matter? What the hell is going on?" Eryn could hear the panic rising in her voice, though she knew not what she had to be afraid of. Something really wasn't right today.

Eamonn leaned against the ancient wooden fence behind them, his eyes closed as he lifted his face to the sky and his chest heaving. Shaking uncontrollably, he reached out blindly for Eryn and clutched her arm until his irregular breathing once again resumed its normal pattern. In and out. In and out.

Shifting to stand in front of him, Eryn looked up into his dark eyes, wide with fear. The question that was on her lips was answered before she could ask.

"I know who murdered Billy."

She knew that her own eyes were widening with fright, just as her heart began to hammer nervously against her ribcage. "Who?" Her voice was little more than a whisper. Eamonn lowered his head and Eryn found herself almost up on her tiptoes to hear what he said.

"Orcs. They were Orcs who killed him, and Orcs who took the Professor."

Eryn nearly stumbled backwards. Orcs? What was he talking about? "Seriously, Eamonn—"

"I _am_ being serious!" he hissed, his grip on her arm tightening until his fingers dug into it. Eryn winced in pain.

"You expect me to believe that monsters from Middle-Earth killed off a guard and ran off with a Professor?" she demanded, trying to free herself from the iron grasp of her friend, whom she was certain had gone mad.

His answer was sharp and immediate. "Yes."

"But…but there has to be some mistake…" She could not believe it, yet the look of abject fear and terror in Eamonn's eyes told her that he must really have seen something horrible last night. Maybe it was the fact that he had been witness to a murder that his mind had distorted reality. Yes, that must have been it.

"I know what I saw, Eryn. They're just...it's crazy how horrible they look. How horrible they _smell_."

Eryn's mind was reeling. They sat in silence. She stared uncomfortably at her flip-flop-clad feet. There was a wet grass blade clinging off one of her toes but she felt as if she couldn't move to brush it away. A few more moments passed slowly before Eamonn cleared his throat.

"So…why are you in your pyjamas?"

Suddenly reminded of the fact that she was still wearing the clothes that she had been sleeping in, she quickly turned to Eamonn. "I need to get back to the house and get my stuff."

Eamonn looked at her incredulously. "The entire campus is swarming with cops, in case you haven't noticed."

"I can't just go around in these all day!" she snapped, giving her old pyjama pants an emphatic tug. Then she added, in less harsh tones, "You'll probably want to get your stuff too. You've been out all night."

"Good point." With a grunt he managed to get up off the footpath and pulled Eryn to her feet. "Let's go. But we'll have to be careful."

The cops had evidently made short work of sealing the entire area off. Yellow tape wound its way around the campus and the entire student housing facility, and the crowd of students grumbled their way up the road, occasionally casting odd looks in Eryn's direction. But she had ceased to care: the only thoughts on her mind centred on Eamonn's odd outburst. That, and her freezing toes.

Eamonn held up the tape for Eryn to go under, glancing around to make sure they were not being watched. She hastily ducked under it and waited for Eamonn to do the same. Racing behind the buildings they worked their way through the maze of student houses without being seen, though all the while Eryn felt nervous. She wasn't one to deliberately break rules, especially not when it meant going up against the police, but in this case she had to. The idea that she was expected just to go home owning nothing but her thinning sleepwear was simply ridiculous.

Her friend had been smart enough to remember to bring his keys with him the night before and he unlocked the door before they both charged into the house.

Haphazardly throwing everything into her backpack and duffle bag, Eryn rushed around the room until she was out of breath. Because she went home every weekend, she only ever brought a week's worth of clothes and despite the general state of chaos in the room, it did not take long for her to clean up. Quickly she surveyed the room and decided that there was no time to get rid of the pizza boxes or random pieces of scrunched-up paper that were lying around. She ripped her phone charger out of the wall and was about to shove it into the very top of her backpack when the sound of something creaking and clanking noisily outside made her stop and look up.

"Eamonn? Are you still here?"

"Yeah!" His voice came from the next room, not from the front of the house. She was about to dismiss what she had heard as her just being paranoid but when it came again, accompanied by an inhuman snuffling noise, she froze instinctively.

Leaving her backpack in her room for the time being, she quietly went up the hallway and peered around the edge of the dining room wall. Everything seemed to be normal. There was no one there.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Eryn went to the kitchen to wash her sweaty palms. Obviously the streak of fear that everyone seemed to have this morning was affecting her too. She winced when the lukewarm water ran over her cold hands and turned around to reach for a towel. But there, she stopped dead in her tracks.

Because standing in the doorway was the most hideous, revolting thing she had ever seen in her twenty years of life.

-o-

**Please review? Pretty please? :) We is always happy to see commentses, yes, precious!**


	4. Bad Is A Euphemism

**Replies to anonymous reviewers:**

**sexyninjalady:** Glad you're enjoying it! Thank you for the review. :)

-o-

The mist had finally lifted, leaving the sky clear, blue and cloudless. But all did not remain still for long. Rasping growls and the clanking of metal rent the mid-morning air, feet trampling the grass without care.

"Move it, you maggots!" shouted Nagdash, whose typically bad mood was made even worse by the two very slowly-moving captives. The ranger was still walking but very tired, and the blond man whom they had captured the night before could barely stand. He had been passed to nearly every Orc in the company, who carried him slumped over their shoulders until they began to complain. Between the two of them, they had managed to slow things down considerably.

They still had not gotten the young soldier of Gondor to speak. He walked in defiant silence despite all their taunts and only stared back at his captors until they uncomfortably looked away. Nagdash was the only one who could contend in this staring competition without so much as flinching. Orcs rarely feel respect for anyone or anything, but in this man Nagdash had felt he had a worthy opponent. He would expect no less from the Captain of his adversaries.

The Great Eye had given all of the Orcs who roamed in Ithilien strict orders not to kill the Captain of the Ithilien Rangers, if they ever captured him. Sauron knew that Faramir, as a great leader, could be of much use to him as a bargaining chip and it was better that he be kept alive. That much was no secret to the Orcs. Even the most dim-witted of them knew what their lord wanted the _tark_ Captain for. Of course it still didn't stop Nagdash's company from staring at Nethir hungrily from time to time but they all knew what awaited them if they disobeyed orders.

What the Orc-captain did _not_ know was exactly what his Dark Master had devised for the other man, the one with the odd black metal rims around his eyes. He only knew that somehow, he was important to the war they were fighting against those Men of the western realms, of which he knew little. In fact, he knew little about anything, other than slaughter, rape and plunder; but, being slightly more intelligent than his subordinates, he knew simply to do his Master's bidding and ask questions later. Especially if it meant that by doing so he could rise up the ranks of the Dark Armies.

He also knew that, unless they reached the Morannon, the Gate of Mordor, very soon, those in charge would certainly be looking for him. And then he would have it. Probably at the hands—or fangs—of Shelob. No, Nagdash was not overly fond of Shelob. He did not intend to pay her a visit any time soon.

He had a job to do, and that job was to get everyone out of the woods and to Mordor as quickly as possible. There was an uneasy sort of feeling he had, though, niggling at the back of his mind. It was hard to pick a path through the trees, for they all looked the same. Tall sort of things that grew close together, with light green foliage and a scent he had never smelt before.

Had he known it, they were going in circles.

"Slugs! Maggots! Move along!" he barked, taking his mind off his worrying thoughts and lashing out at his company.

"They can't go no farther!" snarled Shraknar, his lieutenant, waving an arm expansively over the rest of the band, who were all breathing heavily, snorting and snuffling, some leaning against nearby trees for support. Nagdash leaned back and surveyed them all with his pitiless yellow eyes. He was right. Uruks they were, but they had been going all night and now a good part of the morning. It puzzled him that they did not seem to be getting anywhere after all this time. This infernal forest must have been a lot larger than he thought.

"Alright!" he snapped. "We'll stop here. But we'll not be staying long." He bared his fangs in a feral smirk. "Otherwise it's Shelob and the tunnel for us!"

There were a few snarls and growls in response.

In the meantime, Nethir was made to sit down, his hands still bound whilst one of the Orcs tied his ankles together. They had done away with the gag by now because he had spoken not a word, and they had gathered that he probably would not any time soon. The other captive was nearly thrown off the shoulders of the Orc carrying him and he slumped to the ground, a pained-sounding groan escaping him as he did so.

Nethir winced. The poor man was only half-conscious of his surroundings, only occasionally whimpering or speaking to himself with a strange, accented tongue. He would probably recover more in an hour or so, when the effects of being nearly knocked senseless eventually wore off. The Orcs had not even bothered to bind him, seeing that he was in no state to flee.

As a ranger of Ithilien in the service of Captain Faramir—whom he greatly admired and respected—Nethir had grown used to many aspects of living in the wild. Rationed food, little opportunities for bathing. But the one thing he could not get used to, despite his newly-developing skills as a ranger, was the smell, the foul smell of Orcs, both dead and alive. So before Nagdash's face came hovering down to his level, in all its wart-ridden atrocity, he could smell him. No amount of washing and scrubbing would ever rid an Orc of that stench.

"Eat." It was not a request, it was a command. Holding up his tied wrists, Nethir took the piece of dried meat Nagdash shoved in his direction. The huge Uruk tromped away at a disturbance between two of his subordinates and he cuffed one of them over the head, barking out a guttural curse. Truth to be told, Nethir was amazed that they had not simply killed him yesterday. Violent slaughter was the way that Orcs always dealt with any of the unfortunate rangers whom they occasionally managed to find. Why was he singled out thus?

_"My Lord Faramir!"_

Nethir happened to turn around at that moment, only to see one of his fellow soldiers running toward him. Mablung stopped in surprise.

"Oh. 'Tis only you, Nethir...

This little flash of memory set Nethir's mind spinning in confusion. Was it possible that Nagdash thought _he_ was Captain Faramir?

How extraordinary, he thought to himself. At least he now had some sort of explanation as to why they were taking him bound to Mordor, rather than simply killing him off. The Orcs had been sent for that purpose. Sauron had long set a price on the heads of the Steward's sons. Once they discovered that he was not whom they thought he was, a cruel death would probably be his fate.

But he still did not have the slightest clue what they would want with the other man, who was struggling to sit up and now leaned against the bole of the tree behind him.

Looking at his fellow captive, Nethir wondered at how strange his clothing was, and not for the first time. He was wearing loose leggings of some sort with a blue tunic, and some sort of dark blue piece of material around his neck. Nethir wondered drily whether it was a halter, though he doubted that the man was wearing it in the hopes of finding an opportunity to kill himself, even in the company of bestial Uruks. But the most intriguing thing about him was the piece of metal that framed his eyes and was joined in the middle by a beam that sat firmly on his nose. Nethir had never seen anything like it.

One of the Orcs had apparently been just as fascinated with the thing as Nethir and had grabbed it off him, trying to fit it onto his broad, crooked features. It was nearly comical to see Golbog staring confusedly through the glass that covered each round frame, the other Uruks howling with laughter as he staggered around as if drunk, eventually walking straight into a tree and falling backwards with a thud.

The snarling and snapping continued nearby, half in Westron and half in some foul Orc dialect.

Seeing as the Uruks were once again squabbling amongst themselves, Nethir turned to his companion and decided to try and communicate with him.

"What is your name?" he asked gently in the Sindarin tongue, thinking that he would understand it.

The other man only stared at him blankly.

-o-

Every doubt Eryn had previously had about the existence of Orcs vanished from her mind as if they had never been. The beast in the doorway stared at her for a moment with nearly as much shock as she felt. But the look in his yellow eyes was replaced with something far more horrible as he reached for his scimitar, whose handle was rusted and bloodied.

Eryn wanted to scream at the top of her lungs until her throat was raw but she couldn't. Fear twisted her gut and froze her vocal chords so that all that came out was a terrified, pathetic croak.

Tagruk's face twisted into a grin as he watched the female Mortal hyperventilate and slowly back into a corner. She could be easily subdued before he went after the male. A swift thrust, a cut across the throat, was all it took to kill off young Mortals.

The way the horrid creature was surveying her made Eryn's rapidly beating heart crawl up her throat. He was far too close, and the tiny kitchen put little distance between them. He was beginning to advance, weapon drawn, and she could already smell the rotting stench of death that clung to him like a foul blanket.

This was certainly turning out to be a very bad morning.

With a roar the Orc swung its blade, narrowly missing Eryn as she ducked with a gasp and ran to where the drawers were. Light-headedness and adrenaline made her eyes swim and head pound as she hastily fumbled around with shaking hands through the cutlery and pulled out a large kitchen knife. Eryn knew absolutely nothing about fighting or killing at all; all she knew was that the best thing to defend herself with was something sharp and pointy.

Not that I have much of a chance anyway, she thought, her heart sinking as the Orc raised its black-encrusted blade again. She managed once more to escape it, but again only just. Already her strength was beginning to flag and it had not even been much of a battle.

He stood over her now, a growl in the back of his throat, readying himself to deal the final blow. Glancing at the sink, she saw that amongst the dishes still sitting there was a bowl, filled with some sort of mixture of detergent and lukewarm soup remnants. With one last desperate effort, she took it and threw the whole lot into the Orc's surprised face. He shrieked as whatever was in it stung his eyes. But he once again lunged forward blindly with his blade, nicking Eryn's arm and making her cry out with the sudden pain. The cut could not have been very deep but the blood immediately oozed from it, trickling down her arm.

Though the Orc could not see well, he had cornered her again, infuriated and with eyes watering. It was not how she thought it would end, at the hands of some ugly creature that should only have existed in myth. But in that moment, one tiny part of her awoke, one that wasn't quivering with frantic despair, which told her not to yield to just yet.

Seizing the moment she leapt forward with what sounded like a battle cry, embedding the knife into the side of his thick neck and shrieking in horror when she felt the gruesome resistance of flesh and sinew against the blade. Blood, sweat and vile stench was all she knew before the Orc staggered backwards out of the kitchen, nearly pulling her with it, her hand still holding the knife in a death grip. She let go, blood spilling onto her hand, and the Orc crashed lifeless to the floor, black blood spurting from his fatal wound, yellow eyes forever holding an expression of agonised surprise.

By this time Eamonn had rushed into the dining room and nearly tripped over the dead Orc, who had quite literally fallen into his path. Hastily skirting around it, he ran into the kitchen and found Eryn, whose hands were dripping with Orc blood and whose red flannelette top was now spattered with inky black.

"I…I…I…" she stammered, her green eyes starting to fill with tears and her lip trembling. Eamonn suddenly felt an overwhelming wave of pity wash over him and was angry with himself for not being there. If the quick reflexes born of desperation had not come to her then and she had frozen with terror…he shuddered to think what could have happened and pushed those thoughts aside, only feeling relieved to see her alive.

Despite the fact that she was covered in blood, Eamonn pulled her into his arms, where she burst into tears and sobbed uncontrollably. "Shh," he murmured, reassuringly tracing circles on her back. In doing so he remembered the many occasions when he had comforted his little sister, long ago, before she quit the world and its sorrows, leaving only him and their Aunt Lori behind. Eryn had always been like a sister to him. And like a brother, he silently comforted her and let her shed hot tears.

She hiccupped and moved away, wiping her nose against her sleeve, shuddering and averting her gaze away from the dead Orc. Silently she stalked away to her room and emerged from it within a few minutes in jeans and t-shirt, her eyes strangely blank. Guilt stung Eamonn's heart when he thought how he had treated Eryn before in his near-hysteria. He had seen Orcs. She had just fought one. The bruises his fingers had left on her slender arm were briefly visible before she pulled her jacket over them. And yet she bore it with nary a word.

Her green eyes turned towards him, half veiled by thick eyelashes. "Let's go," she said quietly. Eamonn glanced at the Orc corpse, with the blood that had been flowing from its neck now only a swiftly drying trickle.

"What should we do about _him_?" he asked, jerking his head in the body's direction.

Eryn shook her head. "He won't be going anywhere."

"We can't just leave it here!"

"What _should_ we do then?" Her voice was weary, but challenging all the same.

"What if someone finds it?"

"It doesn't matter, as long as whoever finds it isn't a student." She suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "Let's just go, okay?"

With a brief nod, he stood aside by the door, which was still open, as Eryn took her duffle bag and backpack outside and trudged down the stairs. He tossed his things on the landing and locked the door, leaving the horror inside shut up in its prison.

Eryn turned around as he made his way down the old wooden steps, police pursuit once again becoming a reality now that they were outside the house. "We have to get out of here. I don't fancy being yanked off the campus again."

"I know," answered Eamonn. "Come on."

Eryn felt strangely numb and a little dizzy as they once again sneaked their way off the student housing campus. The business of killing was something she had never thought about before, and something which had shaken her considerably. It was perfectly fine for her favourite characters from _Lord of the Rings_ to decapitate and cut through the Orcs, parting through them in a lethal yet almost graceful dance. But when she herself had done it, with a bowl of soup and a kitchen knife…she swallowed heavily. It was an Orc, she told herself. It deserved to die. But the fact that she had robbed a creature of life—no matter who or what that creature happened to be—horrified her. Tears began to course down her cheeks again as she ran and she wiped furiously at her eyes. This was no time for crying and making a spectacle of herself.

"You there!"

Both Eamonn and Eryn froze and slowly turned, discovering that the voice belonged to a young police officer. Eryn recognised him as Officer Fielding, who but recently had marched her off the campus.

"Yeah?" Eamonn suppressed a wince at the way his voice came out, with that poorly disguised note of defiance in it. He only wanted to get himself and Eryn away from the place and understandably, given what had just happened, felt irritated at any obstacle that stood in his way. But Officer Fielding had his own goal to achieve, however, and the challenge rang out in his own voice as he spoke.

"Would you happen to know where to find Eamonn Codds?" he asked, eyebrow slightly raised as he whipped out his notebook.

Eamonn was startled. "Um, that's me."

"Oh?" His tone was one of mild surprise. "Then I ask that you accompany me to the station for questioning."

Nervous anticipation began to tighten his stomach. "Why?"

"We have some reason to believe that you were there last night, during the time of Billy McBride's murder."

Oh no, thought Eamonn, a ghastly sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach at the police officer's words. _They think I was the one who did him in. They'll never believe that mythical creatures from Lord of the Rings running around on campus last night were responsible for murdering a security guard._

That, at least, was what one part of him was saying. His more calm, logical side told him that he would have to defend himself at some point and it would be best to get it out of the way now. Besides, once the investigation team found what was inside the house he and Eryn had just left, he was fairly certain that their doubts would be laid to rest. His answer was a simple nod.

"Good." Officer Fielding turned around and purposefully strode away, expecting the two students to follow him.

"Just give me a minute," mumbled Eryn, who staggered to the nearest bush and promptly emptied the roiling contents of her stomach.

* * *

**A/N: Thank you for all the reviews/alerts/faves. Please take the time to make a comment. :)**


	5. Run, Forrest, Run!

Senior Sergeant Gordon Richards had been about to leave his house when the ringtone of his mobile phone suddenly went off, the muffled strains of a very upbeat Ninth Symphony remix emanating from his shirt pocket. Letting slip an expletive in exasperation, he answered it gruffly. "Yes?"

"We have just questioned a young man whom we believe may know something about the murder." The voice was that of Senior Constable Scott Harris. To have found someone who may have had something to do with the murder so quickly after the crime happened was quite unusual.

"Who?" demanded the Senior Sergeant impatiently. No doubt the fact that the questioning had taken place without his approval had something to do with bloody Matheson.

"His name is Eamonn Codds."

"Well?" Richards knew he sounded unimpressed. And really, he was. "And what does he have to say for himself?"

There was a cough on the other end. "I think we, er, have another case to investigate."

"What do you mean?"

"Mr. Codds seemed to believe that one Professor David Bloom was abducted."

"Abducted?" echoed Richards.

"Yes, sir."

"At the same time as the murder?"

"Actually, Codds told us that the abduction was the primary objective, and the murder most likely took place before the Professor was taken. The cases are linked."

Well. This was very strange. Those role-play groups or cults or whatever were most definitely getting out of control.

"Look, Harris," he sighed. "I'm going to the university now where we'll decide what to do." _And that includes putting Matheson into his place before he starts trying to run the whole damn thing._

"And what should we do with Codds and his girlfriend?"

"His girlfriend?" Richards repeated. He felt rather stupid. If his wife (who, he suspected, already thought he was crazy), were not standing in the room, he would have smacked himself upside the head. He was meant to be in charge of the whole bloody investigation and here he was sounding like a freaking parrot!

Senior Constable Harris was patient. "There's a really edgy-looking young woman sitting around outside in the foyer and we're assuming it's his girlfriend."

"Oh." He stroked his greying beard in thought. "Does she have anything to do with it?"

"She might, but we haven't subjected her to interrogation yet, sir. She looks like she's just killed someone."

It suddenly occurred to the Senior Sergeant that there might have been else entirely something going on here, something rather nasty. Could it be that the cult they had been after for years but never caught was behind this? But why would they want some random Professor? And why did they use primitive weapons to hack a security guard to death? The questions just kept coming but none of them were being answered.

"Did—did Codds or his girlfriend say anything about who might have been responsible?"

There was a pause on the other end, as if Harris was unsure of what to say. "Well…" His voice trailed off. Richards felt himself becoming impatient again.

"What?" he snapped.

Harris' voice sounded hesitant. "They seem to reckon that monsters called Orcs did it."

-o-

**Somewhere in Hazel's Wood**

Professor David Bloom heard the voice of the young man next to him over the racket of his hideous captors arguing with each other in their harsh, guttural tongue. After he had woken up to find himself dangling over the stinking back of something that looked like it belonged in a horror or fantasy film, he remembered hearing the hysterical yells that issued from his own mouth until he was hit over the head and the darkness claimed him. Since then, he had been slipping in and out of consciousness and was only vaguely aware of the fact that he was being carried off to some place.

At first, he had thought that he had been kidnapped by a group of fanatical role-players, but now that he was somewhat conscious he seriously doubted that. Their masks and costumes were certainly excellent, the attention paid to detail fastidious but altogether revolting. Generally the people in his acquaintance did _not_ smell like sewers, no matter how crazy and "in-character" the role players were supposed to be. And they certainly did not…ugh. He shuddered in horror.

Recently he had been witness to a frightening scene of ruthless murder, followed by cannibalism that effectively disposed of the body and fed the hungry men (that is, if they actually _were_ men). Though he did not understand the language, it was not hard to see, through watching the various snarls and gestures being rapidly exchanged between the two, that the Head Monster was having a dispute with one of his subordinates. The matter was finished off quickly, the body disposed of with the help of the rest of the crew, and had the poor Professor had the energy, he would have vomited. Like Nethir, he wondered why they had bothered to keep either of them alive when they could not even refrain from eating each other.

His fellow prisoner, he thought, must have been someone of importance. And if that was true, he could see why the creatures had him. They could use him as a hostage, but what kind of payment they would exact for his return eluded the Professor. They did not exactly look like the sort that would need money. Perhaps they wanted something else.

It still didn't explain why they had gone to the trouble of capturing _him_, Professor David Bloom, PhD. _He_ certainly would not have identified himself as someone of importance, at any rate.

At the sound of his fellow prisoner's voice the Professor weakly tilted his head in his direction. The language that he spoke was in all ways unlike the speech of their captors. It was only a brief phrase but it sounded gentle and flowing. And it sounded quite familiar, in a way, though he understood not a word of it.

That was when it hit him.

Men dressed in tunics and leggings. Ugly, leprous things who looked only half-human and whose behaviour was worse. Odd languages that he had never heard spoken except in movies.

He knew that he must have looked like an idiot, jaw hanging open and glasses sitting at a crooked angle on the bridge of his nose. They had not sat properly ever since one of the creatures had tried to wear them. But his head was swimming in such a bewildering maelstrom of emotions that he didn't care. It was not possible! And yet, he had the proof here right before his very eyes. This was no psycho role-playing group. This was the real deal.

If what he guessed was true—no matter how utterly ludicrous the idea was—then these monsters were none other than inhabitants of some place like Narnia. Or maybe Middle-Earth. Somehow they had managed to walk right into Hazel's Wood from wherever they were supposed to be. But how? There was only one way possible.

For a moment the Professor's love of study overshadowed even concern for the rather nasty quandary he had found himself in. For years he had been extensively investigating the existence of alternative dimensions in present time and space as according to Einstein's string theory, and with it the Professor had become fascinated with studying the possibility of alternative dimensions outside of the modern times they lived in. This was an exciting find. Finally he would be able to prove that he was not vainly researching myth—that there really were doorways into other times and lands. In addition—and it was a strange thought indeed—it proved the existence of a world long thought to be fictional.

His mood turned grim again when remembered that he would have to escape first before he could prove anything. And escape was not looking like a viable option right now; not when there were at least a dozen huge monsters - or whatever they were - armed to the teeth guarding them. Regardless of what kind of mission they were on, the Professor had no doubt that they would kill him if he tried to run.

Instead, he turned his attention back to the matter at hand: namely, the fact that the other prisoner was trying to speak to him. The Professor assessed his appearance for the first time. Light brown, slightly wavy hair tumbled over his eyes, which were an unusual grey colour. Though he was sitting down, the way he had his legs stretched out in front of him told the Professor that he had to be quite tall.

He repeated that nice-sounding phrase with a slight inflection at the end which told the Professor that he was asking a question. What sort of question it was, he had no way of knowing.

The look of confusion on the Professor's face must have said something, because a knowing look came over the young man's face. "Nethir." He placed a hand over his chest and then gestured in the Professor's direction. He was trying to tell him what his name was.

Strange name, thought the Professor drily, before remembering that he was, after all, speaking to an inhabitant of Middle-Earth, if he surmised correctly. This day was becoming stranger and stranger.

So he did the same thing, pointing to himself and saying, "David."

"Day-veed," repeated Nethir slowly then cracked a grin. The Professor found himself smiling back, despite all he had been through in the last few hours.

Perhaps there was some hope yet.

-o-

**The Police Station at Tending, ten minutes away from Churchdale**

With her iPod on but not really listening, Eryn sat quietly on a chair near the service desk, anxiously waiting for the police officers' questioning of Eamonn to finish. They had already been a while—though whether it was half an hour or an hour she did not know—and she was expecting the door to fly open at any moment now, but she knew that often police interrogation took a long time…especially when it involved serious matters.

_I hope he's alright,_ she thought worriedly. _They'll have a hard time believing what he says._ She gave a soft snort. _She'd_ had a hard time believing him and she was his best friend! She would still have doubted him if it hadn't been for…

She swallowed thickly and squeezed her eyes shut, as if to squeeze the memory of the Orc she had faced out of her mind. The thing obviously would have been trained in the art of efficient if not messy and pitiless slaughter by whatever means possible. She really was lucky to have gotten away with her life and with hardly more than a scratch on her arm.

Eryn pitied the next unfortunate person who would walk into the house they had just left. They would find a dead Orc with a kitchen knife in its neck and that half-surprised, half-anguished look forever fixed on its ugly face. Its tongue was lolling out in a way that was nearly hilariously funny in a morbid sort of way.

The sound she made was halfway between a sob and a hysterical giggle.

One of the doors creaked open, startling her out of her thoughts; and truth to be told, she was glad of the distraction. Eamonn's tall form came into view, followed by Officer Fielding and some other cop who had introduced himself before as Senior Constable Scott Harris.

Eryn leapt to her feet, yanking the headphones from her ears. "What's happening now?"

"We're going to Hazel's Wood," answered Eamonn evenly, but Eryn knew him too well not to miss that underlying hint of worry in his voice, or the apprehension in his eyes. The two police officers headed out the automatic glass doors without a word. Eryn looked up at her friend uncertainly.

"What did they say? Did they believe you?" She knew that she sounded panicked.

Eamonn ran a shaky hand through his hair, which Eryn knew was his standard nervousness gesture. "I…I don't know. I can't say."

"If the both of you would follow me, please?" Officer Fielding's voice cut through their conversation before Eamonn could say any more.

Eryn peered behind Eamonn as they went outside, where her sight was met with a four-wheel-drive police vehicle with the standard blue and white checks and "Police" written on each side. The police officer gestured at the duffle bags she and Eamonn were carrying.

"You can chuck your junk in the trunk. I mean—er, your stuff can go in the back."

Despite her mood Eryn felt a grin threatening to split her face and she bit her lip to prevent it. Eamonn's barely stifled laugh came out as a cough at the last minute, threatening to erupt at the expression of embarrassment on the officer's face.

She slid into the front seat purely out of habit then instantly regretted it, feeling rather uncomfortable sitting next to someone she did not even know that well. Especially given that the aforementioned someone had recently had to remove her from campus in her pyjamas.

Meanwhile, Eamonn gracelessly managed to pull himself with his long legs into the back seat of the car. It was nearly immaculately clean, except for an empty McFlurry in the drink-holder at the front near where Eryn was sitting.

Any conversation was killed by the inevitable barrier between student and police officer, though this one didn't look much older than either of them. They must think I'm lying, Eamonn thought worriedly, again running his hand back through his chestnut-coloured hair. Either that, or they think I'm crazy.

Eryn's stirring in the silence made him look up. "So…um, Officer?"

A look of pity came over Officer Fielding's face as he cast a quick glance at Eryn. "There's no need to stand on ceremony," he said in the gentlest tone Eamonn had yet heard him use. "I'm a constable but one of the juniors. Up there they still think I'm fresh off my cadetship." He grinned. "You can just call me Pat."

She gave him a small, hesitant smile. "Okay. Pat. Um, why are we going _there_?" A rough gesture in the direction of Hazel's Wood accompanied her words.

"Well, around here the police believe that there's some sort of cult that occasionally gathers somewhere in the woods to make mischief."

Eryn's eyes widened. "Whoa. Really?"

"Yeah. People go missing, weird things going on at night, all that kind of thing."

Eryn looked puzzled, and Eamonn started to feel interested in spite of himself. "What, so like, rituals and stuff?" he asked, though his skin crawled at the thought.

"That's what they say, anyways," answered Pat with a shrug. "I haven't been working here long enough to know the details, but I'm thinking there might be some truth in it. We're going to see if there's any more evidence of a ritual killing or something at their usual haunts. Sergeant Matheson and his team should be following behind us pretty soon. So," he said, turning around in his seat to face Eamonn as they stopped at a turn-off onto an unsealed road, "if you saw ugly people, they might have been wearing ceremonial dress or something."

Eamonn snorted. "It sounds pretty crazy. I mean, ritualistic cults playing dress-up and whatever…"

He could see Pat's smile in the rear view mirror. "No weirder than seeing Orcs running around on campus in the middle of the night."

"That's true," he murmured. "But doesn't this cult do things pretty cleanly? Like, no one's found any bodies around their little ritual sites, have they?"

Pat shook his head. "Nope. We just know it happens, because there are similar patterns in other ritualistic groups in other states and overseas."

"Right. But Billy's body was found in a complete mess, all over the place."

There was a moment of silence as Pat considered this.

"No, you're right," he said slowly. "I think you're onto something. It's not their usual pattern, as far as I know, and I don't get why they didn't just knock Billy out if they wanted him out of the way." Eamonn could nearly see the cogs turning in his head. "Or if they really wanted to get rid of him for good, I don't get why they did it so viciously. It's going to be practically impossible to conduct an autopsy on the corpse, what with things hacked off and thrown all over the place."

"Oh, God," murmured Eryn almost prayerfully, looking rather pale and lifting her eyes to the car roof.

"Sorry," said Pat, sounding sheepish. "I probably shouldn't have said that."

"Did the guy who questioned me believe what I said?" asked Eamonn quickly, to turn the subject away from dead bodies. The relief on Eryn's face was painfully obvious.

Pat looked uncertain. The car rattled over a particularly rough patch on the road. "Bloody hell," he muttered to himself. "You'd think they woulda gotten rid of any dirt roads that were still around here."

"Isn't this considered a rural area, though?" asked Eryn. "They don't bother sealing the roads when there's no people around."

"Hey, this isn't rural—this is _regional_," corrected Pat. "That's what makes it worse." His bright blue eyes met with Eamonn's in the mirror. "I don't know if he believed you, mate," he sighed. "There'll be more questioning later on, and you'll probably have to speak to the Senior Sergeant at Tending."

"But do _you_ believe me?"

Awkward silence reigned over the three of them for what seemed like the umpteenth time. The stones that rattled beneath them on the old road flew up in clouds of dust, obscuring the trees with their tall, peeling trunks. The condition of the road seemed to be getting worse and worse as they went along, with grass sprouting up through the dirt. Eamonn only hoped no one would come careering round the corner because the road had gotten so narrow that it would be practically impossible to fit two cars on it. A few odd noises came from Eryn's phone. She glanced at it and muttered something about crap reception.

"_I_ don't think you're lying," said Pat eventually, in answer to Eamonn's question, but the emphasis told Eamonn that he might have been the only one. "I believe that you saw something strange and I don't think you were involved in any way with the murder or the abduction. But I have a hard time believing that mythical creatures were responsible for either crime. It sounds like something out of a sci-fi movie. Or one of those fanfiction things that my younger sister's always writing."

Leaning back against the seat Eamonn closed his eyes, repressing the feelings of anger and frustration threatening to boil over. He expected that he wouldn't be believed. But being confronted with incredulity at every turn was evoking every sensation of annoyance from his usually calm, collected self, seldom ruffled by anything. Anything, it seemed, except where his innocence was concerned.

Most likely the police would pursue the idea that it was some cult or whatever that committed the crime but they would probably still think of Eamonn as a suspect all the same. That thought alone was enough to unsettle him.

Pat nearly seemed to read his thoughts. "We just need to find the evidence," he said, trying to sound reassuring. "And that's what we're off to do now."

"If you want evidence," said Eryn quietly, "there's plenty of it in House Number 32 at the student housing campus."

There must have been something in the way that Eryn said it which disturbed the young police officer. He pressed a button on a very modern-looking piece of technology, whose screen lit into life quickly. _That's a step up from walkie-talkies,_ thought Eamonn, wondering when the police had upgraded their equipment.

"Sergeant Matheson?"

"That you, Fielding?"

"Yes, sir. I've just received some information on the case and I think someone should be sent down to the student houses."

There was no reply. The screen flickered.

"Sir?"

Silence.

"Crap reception," muttered Pat, giving the device a futile whack.

"There's a lotta that going around today," sighed Eamonn, checking his own phone as Eryn had done. The name of his phone company and the nearest reception location were still there but flickered on and off the screen a few times. Obviously Hazel's Wood wasn't the best place to update his Facebook status from.

A sudden gasp from Eryn nearly made him hit the ceiling. She was wildly gesturing at two figures ahead, dashing their way through the trees.

One of them was the Professor.

-o-

**Questions? Comments? Fire away! :)**


End file.
